


The Waning Crescent Moon

by Nelenus



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Claumitri, Gift Fic, I Had To, M/M, Nagamas, because my giftee had Claumitri angst as a possible prompt, dimiclaude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21877687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelenus/pseuds/Nelenus
Summary: After five long years, each man thought the other was lost. But fate saw fit to grant them a second chance. Yet as the waning moon gradually vanishes every month, they needed to grasp their chance before it, too, vanished from them in the night.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 77
Collections: Nagamas Gifts





	1. Chapter 1

Gronder Field was a hellscape.

Fire had engulfed the central hill. Sparks and embers flew everywhere, while the smoke mingled with the heavy fog that still hung over the outer edges and wooded areas. On the front lines, chaos reigned. Alliance, Empire, and Kingdom soldiers alike clashed, no one truly able to tell friend from foe in the confusion. Bodies were strewn everywhere. The clash of metal on metal, the roaring of the flames, and the screams of the wounded and dying all combined in a deafening cacophony. Hellish music to accompany a hellish scene.

And yet it couldn’t so much as muffle the cries in Dimitri’s own head. If anything, it made the voices of the fallen cry out louder. Cry out for blood. For vengeance.

On the other side of the field, he saw her. The Imperial garb, and that axe glowing red… there was no mistaking it.

The crazed prince sprinted across the field, Areadbhar raised. Today, the dead would have their tribute.

As he neared his target, the power of the Crest of Blaiddyd began coursing through him. Superhuman strength flowed into his arm, making his massive Relic weapon light as a feather in his grip. His blood already boiling from the heat of battle, the rush of power from his Crest created an intoxicating effect. It sent him into a bloodlust-induced rage. He began swinging his lance indiscriminately. It didn’t matter to him who was caught in its path. And the agonized screams that followed every swing only fueled the fire in his veins.

Meanwhile, the fire from the central hill began to spread, forcing Dimitri to divert his path. He circled around the advancing flames, beginning a run up a smaller, rolling hill. He looked up. A large, winged shadow flew over the central hill, headed in the same direction he was going.

Dimitri swore. No one was going to take his revenge away from him. No one.

He let out a bestial cry and changed course.

From his vantage point above the battlefield, Claude surveyed the chaos. To say things looked bad was an understatement. Even from the air, the Kingdom and Empire’s movements were too difficult to make out. Smoke clouded his vision. It filled his lungs, making him choke. He clutched his wyvern’s reins in one hand, Failnaught in the other. Eyes narrowed, he tried in vain to blink out the smoke as he scanned the battlefield.

Most of the fighting was concentrated around the hill, just out of reach of the fire. Imperial reinforcements poured in continuously from the southwest, clashing with both his and the Kingdom army at the bottom of the hill. As he looked a little further west, he finally located the commander of the Imperial army. Emperor Edelgard herself.

“There she is,” Claude muttered to himself, pulling an arrow from his quiver.

The fastest way to her was to fly directly over the central hill. Giving his wyvern the command, Claude climbed skyward, above the flames. Then he made a beeline for Edelgard.

A feral battle cry from below pulled his attention away. He scanned the field again.

His heart did a backflip at what he saw, charging toward him from the south.

“Is that… Dimitri?”

He already knew Dimitri was still alive, against all odds. But having not seen him since their academy days at Garreg Mach, Claude had no way of knowing what the past five years had done to the Faerghus prince. He had no way of preparing for the Dimitri he was about to meet on the battlefield.

The blond-haired man in the enormous blue cloak, wielding a Heroes’ Relic. That had to be him. But Claude frowned in puzzlement as the man diverted his path away from the Imperial line, suddenly charging at him instead.

At first, Claude thought he was mistaken. There was no way that giant of a man tearing across the field with reckless abandon could be the same upstanding prince he knew so well.

And there was certainly no way that shy young man would ever turn his blade on Claude.

“ _Get out of my way, Claude!_ ”

Claude’s heart plummeted. In that instant, everything he knew about Dimitri shattered.

That was Dimitri’s voice. That was Dimitri’s face. But it wasn’t the Dimitri he knew.

“Calm down, Dimitri! It’s me!”

To Claude’s horror, his words fell on deaf ears. Dimitri continued to charge. As he neared his target, he raised Areadbhar above his shoulders. He drew his arm back in preparation to throw.

“Dimitri, no!”

The closer Dimitri got to his target, the easier he could make it out. The winged shadow was a wyvern. Its rider seemed to be carrying a large bow that glowed red. A Heroes’ Relic. He couldn’t recall which one of the Relics it was, but Dimitri didn’t care. This man was getting between him and Edelgard. And for that, he was going to _remove_ him.

He sprinted up the hill. The wyvern-riding archer came down from the central hill, flying lower now that they were clear of the flames.

A fleeting pang hit Dimitri in the chest. He knew this man.

Dimitri let out another battle cry. Whatever feeling that was in his chest a second ago, he blocked it out. It had no place on the battlefield. Besides, the Dimitri that had known Claude as his friend was dead. Only a monster remained. And that monster would kill even Claude if it had to.

But he would at least give him a fair warning first. He shouted across the battlefield, telling Claude to move.

Claude did not move.

“Fine…” Dimitri growled.

Though Claude slowed down, Dimitri did not. He kept up the charge.

He heard Claude’s voice pleading with him, but the words did not register in his mind. Dimitri raised his lance. He drew his arm back. Claude should have moved.

Claude cried out again, but to no avail. Dimitri hurled Areadbhar with all his might.

Despite the considerable distance it had to travel, the lance still struck Claude with enough force to unseat him from his wyvern. The weapon buried itself several inches deep into Claude’s shoulder. Claude screamed as he fell backward.

By some miracle, however, he managed to hold on to the reins. Thus, when he fell out of the saddle, he pulled his wyvern’s head back with him. The beast let out a surprised cry of its own, beating its wings furiously to stay airborne while it tried to correct itself. But with its rider dangling from the side, it couldn’t. Claude’s weight pulled the wyvern’s head down to that side, throwing off its balance. It was a losing battle. Unable to regain balance, the wyvern steadily lost altitude. Fortunately for the both of them, they had been flying low to begin with. And the wyvern kept itself in a controlled fall, landing on its feet. Claude, on the other hand, hit the ground with a thud. He lay still.

Dimitri walked over to retrieve his lance. Upon reaching them, he noticed the wyvern huddled protectively over its master, who lay motionless except for his shallow and erratic breathing. Areadbhar pointed straight up, still protruding from Claude’s left shoulder. His wyvern, meanwhile, snarled and bared its fangs at Dimitri’s approach.

Unfazed, Dimitri walked right up to it. The wyvern snapped at him. Although he had expected it, the beast had moved faster than Dimitri anticipated. It caught his left arm, biting a chunk out of his gauntlet. Dimitri swore and yanked his arm back. Then, with his right arm, he punched the wyvern in the jaw, sending it staggering backward, howling in pain.

The prince then turned his attention to Claude, and the weapon impaled in Claude’s shoulder. He walked up to the wounded Alliance leader, gripping the lance with one hand.

“Di… mitri…” Claude gasped.

Dimitri said nothing as he pulled Areadbhar out of Claude’s shoulder. He ignored the blood that spattered everywhere. He was already coated in the blood of dozens of others. Another stain would make no difference.

Claude cried out in pain again, but it was much weaker this time.

With Areadbhar back in hand, Dimitri turned around and went back to the battle. Now that Claude was out of the way, he could finally get to Edelgard. He took off at a sprint.

To his dismay, the Imperial army had started to retreat. Edelgard had disappeared among the ranks of the Imperial army’s rear guard. Not to be deterred, Dimitri ran after them anyway.

And while he had been distracted by Claude, Byleth and the others had caught up. Dimitri pointed his lance at the retreating Imperial force, letting out another yell.

“We have them on the run!” he shouted. “Quickly! Kill the rest of them! But leave Edelgard to me!”

Dimitri made for the Imperial army’s center, where he last remembered seeing Edelgard. A line of soldiers held up their shields and pointed their lances, forming a wall. Dimitri cut them down like summer wheat. He forced his way through Imperial lines, drenching himself in more blood the further he went.

However, what he failed to notice was that some of that blood was his own.

Consumed by rage, he never noticed when enemy swords or spears pierced through his armor. Bloodlust, adrenaline, and the power of his Crest blinded him to pain. He was focused on one thing alone: finding Edelgard.

He didn’t understand why his body was suddenly slowing down.

Someone behind him called his name. The brilliant white light of an Aura spell came down from the heavens, obliterating a squad of Imperial archers that had been aiming for Dimitri. Behind them, a squad of mages readied their spells. Half a second later, the glowing red whip-like blade of the Sword of the Creator swept in their direction. With that one sweep, the Sword’s fragmented blade tore multiple gashes through the mages’ bodies, pulling them down into the grass.

Byleth yanked the blade back, and it retracted back into its sword shape. They called to Dimitri again, but the prince only pushed himself forward, howling Edelgard’s name as he went.

He didn’t make it very far.

Blood loss caught up to him. His head swam. The field around him started spinning uncontrollably. With his next step forward, he lost balance and fell face first in the grass. Fortunately, Byleth was already at his side. Their face, and the glowing light of a healing spell were the last things Dimitri saw before losing consciousness.

Sylvain and his company of Kingdom cavalry rode up to Byleth and Dimitri’s position near the edge of the field. The ginger-haired knight looked noticeably shaken at Dimitri’s current state.

“Is he…?” Sylvain began.

“He’ll live,” Byleth said. “But I need you to help me get him off the field…”

Sylvain immediately jumped out of the saddle.

“Of course, Professor.”

Together, knight and professor loaded Dimitri onto Sylvain’s horse. Sylvain got back in the saddle, holding the unconscious prince in place as he rode off the battlefield.

Meanwhile, further back, Claude struggled to pull himself to his feet. His left arm hung limply at his side, rendered nearly useless by his wound. The entire arm, and even part of his torso, was soaked in blood. What was left of his pauldron after Dimitri’s lance destroyed it fell to the ground. Rising gingerly to his feet, Claude leaned on his wyvern’s leg for support while he pressed his right hand over his wound.

“Ngh…”

He reached up and tore off his cape. Bunching up the fabric, he used that instead to try to stanch the bleeding. Already feeling dizzy, he frantically scanned the area for any potential allies.

There were none.

The Kingdom army had the Imperial army on the run. His own army, on the other hand, devastated by attacks from both factions, was forced to fall back themselves. But as long as the Kingdom was more interested in pursuing the Empire, Claude at least didn’t have to worry about further losses to the Alliance.

Unless, of course, he counted himself. Though he had plans in place to ensure the future of the Alliance without him, he still didn’t fancy the idea of dying alone and in pain on the battlefield.

“Got to… get out of here…” he groaned.

He gave up on looking for allies and looked to the ground at his feet. Failnaught lay on the ground a few paces away, just out of reach from where he stood. Claude sighed. Slowly easing himself away from his wyvern, he tried to walk over to pick up Failnaught. He crossed the distance easily enough. Keeping his right hand applying pressure to his shoulder, Claude bent down and wrapped his blood-soaked left hand around the bow’s grip. A few tense seconds later, he stood upright, Failnaught in hand.

“Heh…”

A dizzy spell hit him, and he stumbled right into the wyvern. It yelped in surprise, but allowed its master to use its body to steady himself. Bending its knees to lower its back closer to the ground, it waited for Claude to climb back into the saddle.

Slinging Failnaught on his back, Claude then reached for the reins. Once he had both feet secure in the stirrups, he leaned forward. He gave the command. The wyvern spread its wings, and in the next instant, they were airborne.

Claude guided the wyvern in the direction of the retreating Alliance forces. Down below, one of the snipers noticed Claude’s approach and signaled the others. They came to a halt, and, seeing it was Claude, waited for him to land.

The sniper – Ignatz, Claude soon realized – then ran forward to meet him the instant he and his wyvern touched down. The others joined in.

“Claude!” Ignatz exclaimed. “When you disappeared earlier, we thought – wait! You’re wounded!”

“I know,” Claude said, starting to sway in the saddle. “I think I need…”

He trailed off, eyes rolling shut. He fell out of the saddle. Ignatz barely caught him in time.

“Lysithea!” he cried.

The young mage girl was already ahead of him. She made her way past the crowd of soldiers, healing spell already prepared. She cast it on Claude’s wound, eyeing it intensely as her magic wove the flesh back together. Satisfied, she then discarded the blood-saturated cape. It was useless now.

As Lysithea backed away, Raphael stepped forward. He effortlessly lifted Claude’s unconscious body, and with Leonie’s help, had him seated in front of her on her horse. With their leader now safe and accounted for, the Alliance army resumed their march back to Derdriu.

Dimitri awoke in the Kingdom army camp, on a cot in the medical tent. He immediately pushed himself to his feet, against Annette’s and Mercedes’ protests. Despite his body telling him otherwise, Dimitri insisted he was fine. He would sleep in his own tent.

The nightmare at Gronder followed Dimitri into his dreams that night. The screams. The fire. The fight with Claude. It all came back.

It was unsettling, watching himself run across the battlefield. Even more unsettling – no, _horrifying_ – to see himself raise his weapon against Claude.

He watched Areadbhar fly from his hands. He screamed at the same time Claude did. He watched, paralyzed with horror as Claude fell from his wyvern, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

“ _CLAUDE!”_

Dimitri thrashed about in his sleep. Finally, he awoke with a start, heart racing, and drenched in cold sweat. Though it was pitch dark, he still glanced frantically around the inside of his tent. Aside from his own hyperventilating, all was quiet. No one else had heard him.

It took a minute for his heart rate to slow down. He wiped the sweat from his face and disentangled himself from his blanket, which he had torn to shreds by accident with his thrashing. Muttering a few choice words under his breath, he tossed the ruined blanket aside.

He laid back down on the cold ground, trying to go back to sleep. When sleep did finally return, however, the nightmare began anew.

He watched Claude fall again, but instead of awakening in a panic, Dimitri found himself rushing toward the body. He knelt beside the fallen Alliance leader, seizing him by the shoulders.

“Claude? Claude! Answer me!”

“Dimitri…”

Claude’s lips never moved, but that was his voice. Dimitri looked around for where Claude’s voice had come from. But Gronder Field had vanished. He now sat in a dark void, still cradling Claude’s lifeless body.

“What have you done, Dimitri?” Claude’s disembodied voice said. “Why did you kill me?”

Tears began welling up in Dimitri’s eye, blurring his vision.

“I… I…”

The low whisperings of other voices joined Claude’s voice. Familiar voices. The voices of all of Dimitri’s other ghosts.

“Why didn’t you kill Edelgard?” they demanded. “Why didn’t you avenge us?”

The weight of his own guilt pushed Dimitri down. He hunched over, clutching Claude’s body tighter. Hot tears streamed down his cheek.

“Stop…” he said weakly.

His feeble protest did nothing. The ghosts’ voices pressed relentlessly, continuing to cry for vengeance. The more he tried to block them out, the louder they got.

“Stop!”

Dimitri let go of Claude, clutching the sides of his own head. He pulled his hair, gnashed his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed droplets of crimson falling from his fingertips. He lowered his hands.

He shuddered. They were drenched in blood. Claude’s blood.

“Tell me, Dimitri!” Claude’s voice said.

Dimitri screamed. He gripped the side of his head again, smearing the blood all over his hair. He curled into a ball, still screaming.

A new voice began calling to him. It was faint at first, but eventually it drowned the others out.

“Dimitri!”

He awoke to someone shaking him by the shoulder. Going into a panic, he thrashed his arms in a bid to throw them off him. It worked, and the person grunted in pain as they hit the ground inside the tent.

“Dimitri! What is going on -”

But the Faerghus prince was not paying attention. Though he was awake, he had been reduced to a sobbing mess. He barely noticed when Byleth picked themselves up off the ground. From the look of things, Dimitri found his own hands far more interesting at the moment.

Byleth held out their own hand. A glowing white sigil appeared, bathing the tent in its light. The light distracted Dimitri long enough to draw his attention to the professor.

Footsteps outside the tent signaled that others were approaching. Seconds later, Mercedes and Dedue appeared at the tent door.

“What happened?” Dedue asked.

Dimitri lowered his head and did not respond. Byleth turned to face Dedue, the sigil still glowing in the palm of their hand. Apart from the moonlight outside, it was their only source of light.

“A nightmare, most likely,” Byleth said softly.

They tried approaching Dimitri again.

The prince’s shoulders still shook with each sob. But he had calmed down enough that he didn’t lash out at the professor’s touch. Byleth gently rested their free hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. Dimitri mumbled incoherently. His professor knelt, hand still on Dimitri’s shoulder, listening to try and make out the words.

Dedue and Mercedes exchanged worried looks.

As Byleth listened to Dimitri’s barely audible rambling, they began to pick out a few words. Words that Dimitri used over and over.

Among those words was Claude’s name.

“You saw Claude?” they asked.

“There were Alliance forces present,” Dedue said. “It would make sense if…”

Dimitri froze. He looked Byleth dead in the eye.

“I’ve failed them again,” he said. He started trembling again as he forced the next sentence out. “I killed… the wrong person…”

After a long and weary march, the Alliance forces finally reentered Derdriu. Claude was then ordered to spend the next few days on bedrest at the Riegan estate.

Much to the physician’s chagrin, Claude rarely obeyed those orders. Wounded shoulder be damned – the Alliance stood on a knife’s edge. He had to ensure it did not fall.

Thus, instead of resting, he spent most days at his desk. And after many long hours of planning and writing, exhaustion would take over, and he would sleep at the desk too. The physician scolded him countless times, to no avail. Claude simply could not let himself rest.

Especially not now that the Empire had invaded.

Since Gronder, the Empire had decided to take advantage of the Alliance’s weakened position. The Empire struck fast and hard, causing the Alliance to suffer defeat after defeat. Now they were cornered. It was only a matter of time before Derdriu itself would fall under attack. And if Derdriu fell, it was all over.

Claude had but one card left to play.

He rose early that morning, before sunrise. Only the feeble light of the waning crescent moon outside – and the candle in Claude’s hand – illuminated the room.

Like the many times he’d done before, he sat down at his desk, pen in hand. He’d written so many letters, sending orders and formulating strategies that he’d lost count. Yet as he sat down to write this particular letter, he balked. His hand trembled. He struggled to bring himself to put pen to paper.

He had barely gotten more than a few sentences in when his left shoulder began to throb with pain. Claude’s throat closed. The pen fell from his hand. With the pain came a flood of memories.

In his mind’s eye, he saw Dimitri charging towards him once again. He vividly recalled the look on Dimitri’s face when he retrieved Areadbhar.

Rage. Hatred. Bloodlust. Things Claude had never thought he’d see darken those bright blue eyes. It hurt more than the wound itself. It meant the Dimitri he knew was lost. Possibly forever.

Claude looked down at the paper on his desk. At the letter he was writing.

He let out a mirthless chuckle. He couldn’t decide which of them was more insane – Dimitri or himself. After all, only a madman would request help from someone who had tried to kill him a few weeks before.

To make matters worse, the Kingdom’s plight was almost worse than that of the Alliance; Fhirdiad yet remained under Imperial control. There was no guarantee Dimitri could help even if he wanted to. Claude’s entire plan rested on one factor, and it wasn’t all that likely to work.

Nevertheless, he picked up his pen and continued to write. When he got to the end, his hand hovered over the bottom of the paper, the tip of the pen an inch from its surface. He stared at the paper for a full minute.

Signing a letter had never felt more like signing his own death warrant.

He swallowed, then quickly scribbled his name. Then he folded the letter up. Then he placed it in an envelope. Then he sealed it.

As he did these things, Claude felt a constricting sensation, like an invisible rope tightening around his neck. Every movement, every action he did to prepare to send this letter made this rope tighten a little bit more. By the time he got up to leave his office, he could barely breathe.

He walked down the hallway toward the antechamber. Within the antechamber, the courier was waiting for him. Claude handed over the letter.

“Deliver this to Prince Dimitri and the Kingdom forces as fast as you can,” he said. “Do not stop for anyone or anything.”

The courier saluted and turned to go, but Claude caught the doubt and confusion in his eyes. He watched as the courier left, closing the doors behind him. He’d sent the letter out, now all he could do was wait. And pray.

Claude reached up and massaged his throat. The rope was tight around his neck.

And it was up to Dimitri whether to cut that rope… or leave him to hang.

“Please, Dimitri…” he said. “Come back to me…”

Following the reports of the Kingdom army’s activities since Gronder, the courier found they were already on the march to Fhirdiad. Fhirdiad was further than Garreg Mach, but there was little to be done. The courier changed course, racing toward the Kingdom capital.

Two days later, he arrived at the gates. The sight chilled him to the bone. Fhirdiad was a battlefield.

From the look of things, the battle was already over. The courier had only to follow the path of Imperial corpses to the palace. Once there, he located the man he knew Claude wanted him to find.

He gasped. The rumors were true. Prince Dimitri stood there, lance in hand, still soaked in his enemies’ blood. As the courier approached, the Faerghus prince looked up at him with his one remaining eye.

“What is this?” Dimitri wondered aloud. He wiped the blood from his lance. Sensing the other man’s hesitation, he waved him forward.

The courier walked a little closer, bowing awkwardly. He withdrew Claude’s letter from his satchel.

“I have an urgent message for you, Your Majesty,” he said, holding the letter out. “Duke Riegan requests your assistance-”

“What?!”

Areadbhar slipped from Dimitri’s hands, clattering to the pavement.

“Did you say ‘Duke Riegan’?” Dimitri asked breathlessly.

The courier laughed nervously, holding the letter out at arm’s length now.

“Uh… yes,” he said. “I did…”

Dimitri snatched the letter from the courier’s hand, tearing open the envelope. He quickly read through it. When he finished, his knees buckled, and he let out a huge sigh of relief, as though some torturous burden was just lifted from his shoulders.

By this point, Byleth and the others were finishing up, and gradually returned to their prince’s side. Byleth sheathed their sword, running over to Dimitri’s side first.

“Is something wrong?” they asked.

“He’s alive…” Dimitri breathed. “Claude is alive…”

Dimitri fell to his knees. Relief and elation washed over him, and he couldn’t contain himself. He started laughing.

Byleth’s eyes widened in surprise. The others exchanged glances, beginning to whisper among themselves. Meanwhile, Dimitri paid no attention. Even in the middle of his fit of laughter, his eyes were glued to the bottom of the letter, to Claude’s hastily scrawled signature.

Claude had survived Gronder. Dimitri had a second chance.

He needed only to reach Derdriu in time.

Lord Arundel’s Imperial forces stormed the streets of Derdriu, forcing what remained of the Alliance forces to flee to the harbor. Claude sequestered himself away on the pier, while Hilda and her squad of elite troops protected the only bridge leading to him. Occasionally Claude would take to the air, surveying the battle from above. Though his attention was focused less on the streets of Derdriu than it was on the plains just outside the city. Every time he checked his heart sank a little lower.

No one was coming.

As his wyvern touched down on the cobblestone once again, Claude felt himself begin to choke. He reached up and felt around his neck. His rope was pulled taut now.

Claude lowered his head, hand still on his throat. When the choking fit subsided, he sat still, eyes closed.

“Dimitri’s… not coming,” he said weakly. “I read this whole thing… terribly wrong…”

He dismounted, dropping Failnaught to the ground.

Dimitri kept the Kingdom army marching at a relentless pace. If the scout reports were accurate, then Claude and the remaining Alliance forces were already cornered at the harbor. They didn’t have a minute to lose.

As they reached the crest of a hill just outside the city gates, Dimitri could for a moment see the whole city. Even from this distance, he could tell the situation was dire.

“Ingrid! Take the flying corps and distract the Imperial army with hit and run tactics!” Dimitri commanded. “Buy the Alliance forces time until we can reach the gates.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

While Ingrid and the Kingdom’s flying troops went ahead, Dimitri broke into a run. His army took that as a signal to do the same. Sylvain and the cavalry easily pulled far ahead, trailing just behind the flying corps as they beelined for the city.

Dimitri tightened his grip on Areadbhar. He went from a run to a sprint.

“Hold on just a little longer, Claude… I’m coming…”


	2. Chapter 2

The battlefield clamor increased in volume. For a second, Claude assumed it was the sound of the enemy advancing ever closer on his position. But then he heard cheering. He heard Hilda cheering.

“What?”

He picked up Failnaught and jumped back into the saddle. Taking to the air, Claude surveyed the city one more time.

A company of pegasus knights flying in from the west swooped down, decimating the Imperial army’s rear guard. On the ground, a couple of cavalry battalions swept the streets, clearing up what enemies the pegasus knights missed.

“Reinforcements?”

Claude leaned forward in the saddle. He looked closely at the banners his newfound allies were flying. There was no mistaking that brilliant blue. Those were the Kingdom’s banners.

He took a deep breath, then let out a sigh of relief. He could almost feel the rope loosen and fall. For the first time in days, he felt like he could breathe normally. Newfound vigor rushed through his body. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, readying his bow.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Dimitri and the others finally breached the gates. Dimitri sunk his lance’s blade into many an enemy soldier, but he had to be more careful this time. Not just because of the confines of Derdriu’s streets, but because there were allies nearby. He wouldn’t risk hurting a friend again, even by accident.

Even when his Crest sent raw energy pulsing through his veins, and as he felt his blood start to boil, Dimitri forcibly reined himself in. He couldn’t give in to the bloodlust.

A flash of electric blue by the bridge caught his attention. His step-uncle had made it to the bridge. That flash was a Thoron spell, and it had narrowly missed the lone figure blocking Lord Arundel’s way. Hilda raised her axe in defiance. Dimitri looked at her, then just a little way beyond her, to the lone wyvern rider on the other side of the bridge.

“Oh no…”

Before Dimitri could stop himself, panic took over.

He let out a yell and charged to the bridge. Lord Arundel, in the middle of preparing his next spell, stopped. He turned around, distracted by the sound of Dimitri’s battle cry.

A group of Imperial soldiers rounded the corner of a nearby house, suddenly entering Dimitri’s field of view. They charged, blocking Dimitri’s path to Arundel. Forced to change targets, Dimitri screamed and swung Areadbhar in a wide arc.

From somewhere ahead of him, he heard Hilda let out a battle cry of her own. But until the Imperial troops were out of the way, Dimitri couldn’t see anything.

The yells of even more Imperial troops drowned out Hilda’s voice. Pushed to desperation, Dimitri gave in. He punched, kicked, swung his lance in every direction, no longer caring who got in the way. Slamming the last Imperial soldier to the ground, crushing their chest under his boot for good measure, Dimitri looked up again.

Hilda pulled herself to her feet, shoving the corpse of her last enemy off the edge of her axe. She was bloodied and bruised, but alive. However, when that last squad of soldiers had charged her en masse, she got shoved out of the way, opening the path across the bridge long enough for Arundel to ride across. And the man had already made it halfway. His hand began to glow blue with another Thoron spell.

“ _NO!”_

Knowing he would never catch up to Arundel’s horse on foot, Dimitri did the last thing he could think of.

He hurled Areadbhar across the bridge.

Arundel came to an abrupt halt. The lance pierced the center of his back, coming out his chest on the other side. He seemed to sit frozen in place for a few seconds. Then, finally, he slumped to one side and fell out of the saddle.

On the other side of the bridge, still facing Arundel and Dimitri, was Claude. And as far as Dimitri could tell, he was unhurt. He held Failnaught out in one hand, the other arm outstretched behind him, as though he had just fired his bow.

Dimitri heaved a sigh of relief. Then, he silently made his way across the bridge. He stopped at his step-uncle’s corpse to retrieve Areadbhar. That’s when he noticed Claude’s arrow, protruding from Arundel’s chest a few inches higher than Dimitri’s lance. He eyed it for a second, then pulled his lance out of Arundel’s back. Rising to his feet, he wiped some of the blood from the weapon. For a scant few seconds, all was silent. The battle was over.

Claude’s nervous laughter shattered the silence.

“That is the second time I’ve seen that lance fly in my direction!” he called from across the bridge. “Good thing you weren’t aiming for me, eh?”

Dimitri stopped and looked up at Claude.

He couldn’t stop himself. He ran the rest of the way to him.

Meanwhile, Claude dismounted and put Failnaught away. His feet had barely touched the ground when Dimitri ran up to him, tossed his lance aside, and pulled Claude into a tight embrace.

They stood in silence for a full minute, locked together.

“Claude…” Dimitri began. “I… I must apologize for what I did to you at Gronder.”

Though Dimitri did not see, Claude’s eyes popped open in surprise. Before the Alliance leader could think of anything to say, however, Dimitri continued.

“I had been so consumed by a thirst for revenge that I would have killed anyone who got in my way,” he said. “But that’s no excuse for what I did. You had agreed to help us, and I turned on you. I nearly killed you. And for that, I am truly sorry. Please… forgive me.”

Dimitri’s voice began to crack. Claude could hear him fighting back tears. To hear the tenderness and sincerity in the prince’s voice soothed him better than any balm on his wounds.

In that moment, he knew. Dimitri was back. Against all odds, the Dimitri he knew came back.

Claude relaxed, returning the embrace. He blinked back the tears that started to gather in his own eyes.

“It’s all right, Dimitri…” he said.

The words lifted the guilt from Dimitri’s shoulders. Dimitri smiled, pressing the side of his head to Claude’s chest. Feeling his warmth. Listening to his heartbeat. Reveling in the fact that Claude was _alive._ And although he’d known that since Fhirdiad, being able to see and have him in his arms did so much more than reading a signature on a paper.

It had been five years. And he had made so many mistakes. One of which had nearly cost Claude’s life. But the nightmare was over now. Claude was safe.

He held on for another minute, seeming to lose track of time. And forgetting his own strength.

“Uh, Dimitri?”

“What is it, Claude?”

“Can you… let go now? You’re crushing my ribs…”

“Oh!”

Dimitri let go immediately, backing away to give Claude room to breathe.

“Claude, I’m sorry!” he said.

“It’s fine…” Claude said, waving his hand dismissively while he took some deep breaths.

While Claude caught his breath, Dimitri heard footsteps behind him. Presently, Byleth joined them on the pier.

“Professor?” Dimitri said, turning to face them.

Byleth glanced behind them at Lord Arundel’s corpse, then back at Dimitri.

“Were you able to gain any more information?” they asked.

“No,” Dimitri replied, eyes downcast. “There was no time. He was nearly across the bridge. He would have-”

“All right.” Byleth held up a hand, gesturing for Dimitri to calm down. “Don’t worry about it for now.”

They sheathed their sword.

Claude looked back and forth between Dimitri and the professor.

“Hey, Teach,” he said. “Long time, no see.”

Byleth allowed themselves a small smile.

“Claude,” they said. “It’s good to see you’re safe.”

“Same here.”

“That was quite the gamble, setting up a defensive battle on the hope we would come.”

“Heh…” Claude’s smile vanished. “I’ve always been fond of taking dangerous risks, but I’ll admit that one was riskier than usual…”

Dimitri crossed his arms.

“I’ll say,” he said. “Your messenger reached Fhirdiad on the same day we recaptured it.”

His face fell. The more he thought about it, the worse it felt.

“After what I did to you at Gronder, you still had faith that we would come?” he went on.

Claude looked Dimitri in the eye.

All his usual facades were stripped away. There was no schemer, no trickster, no Master Tactician in those forest green eyes. For the first time in his life, Claude laid his soul bare for Dimitri to see.

“Yes,” he said. “I did. I had to believe the Dimitri I knew would come back. There were no other cards left for me to play.”

“Claude…” Dimitri gasped. “You gambled your life, and the fate of the Alliance, on my…”

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the statement. Yet as he fell silent, he knew that everyone present already knew what he meant to say.

Claude nodded, noting the fearful tone in Dimitri’s voice.

“I know, I know,” he said. “Too dangerous of a gambit for your liking. Especially with you at the center of it… sorry about that. Really.

“But… I can promise you this. All that risky gambling… ends today.”

Dimitri uncrossed his arms.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I’m leaving Fódlan.”

“What?”

Dimitri’s heart plummeted. Claude might as well have just punched him in the gut.

“Why?”

This had to be one of his jokes. He wouldn’t turn just around and leave like that.

Byleth gave Claude a quizzical look.

“Won’t you lend us your strength?” they asked. “If the Alliance and Kingdom join forces-”

Claude put up a hand to stop them.

“Hold on a minute, Teach,” he said. “I’m doing exactly that. As of today, the Leicester Alliance is dissolved. I’ve already discussed this with the other lords at the roundtable conference, and… I’m handing the Alliance over to you, Dimitri.”

Dimitri’s breath caught in his throat. For a second, he thought his heart stopped.

There was no way this wasn’t a joke. Any second now, Claude would burst out laughing, saying ‘I sure got you that time!’ and admit the whole thing was a prank.

And yet the seconds dragged on in silence. Claude wasn’t laughing. He didn’t so much as crack a smile.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Claude said. “I’m really sorry about this, but I can’t stay. There are things I need to do. Dreams I need to see to fruition.”

“But… you cannot truly intend to…”

“Relax. I’m not leaving forever.”

Claude reached into his wyvern’s saddlebag, pulling Failnaught back out.

With the battle having ended, its characteristic intense red glow had faded. Now a gentler, barely visible red glow emanated from it, the Relic weapon’s Crest Stone still resonating with its wielder’s Crest.

“What are you doing?” Dimitri asked.

Claude held the bow out, looking expectantly at Dimitri.

“Making a promise,” Claude said. “I don’t know how many years will pass until then, but I swear I will return to you. In the meantime… hold on to this for me, all right?”

Dimitri stared slack-jawed at Failnaught, suddenly lost for words. His few attempts at speech came out as stuttering noises.

Slowly, reluctantly, he reached out and took Failnaught in his hands. Claude then lowered his own. Watching Dimitri tuck the weapon under his arm, Claude finally allowed his smile to return. He smiled warmly at Dimitri, leaning in close and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Until we meet again, Your Kingliness.”

And with that, Claude turned around. He walked back over to his wyvern, jumped back into the saddle, grabbed the reins, and with one command uttered in a language Dimitri didn’t understand, took to the air. They climbed high above Derdriu’s skyline and took off over the water. Minutes later, they were gone.

Dimitri watched until the Alliance leader vanished from his sight. Even after Claude disappeared over the horizon, Dimitri kept his gaze focused in that direction.

“Until we meet again, Claude…”

Months later, when Dimitri finally returned to Fhirdiad, he didn’t know what to do with himself at first.

Edelgard was dead. The war was over.

But it was what came after war that would test the new king’s limits.

Soon enough, Dimitri found himself so busy it made his head spin. The war had left swaths of destruction all over the continent, and if he was to lead the new, unified Fódlan, he had to start the reconstruction process immediately.

More than once, it felt like too much. Too much to do. Too many places to go, people to see, documents to sign. At times the young king thought he would snap under the pressure. All his waking hours were devoted to rebuilding Fódlan. Caught up in all his new duties, he sometimes was forced to leave the palace for weeks at a time.

But every once in a while, he had the rare chance to return to the royal suite and collapse into its enormous, comfortable, four-poster bed. It was all he could do on the worst days, when everything got too overwhelming. On those days, he would lock himself in. Either once all his work was done, or once he found a way to cut his day short. He locked the doors and refused to see anyone else for the rest of the day.

As the rebuilding went on, weeks turned into months. By the end of the year, Dimitri was all but drained. His chances for rest were few and far between, and it was catching up to him.

One evening, Dimitri did as he usually did upon coming back to the royal palace. He locked himself in the royal suite, and leaned back against the doors, physically and mentally exhausted. Taking some deep breaths to calm himself, his gaze slowly traveled up from the floor to the wall.

Failnaught hung in a glass case mounted to the wall. Since his return to the Kingdom capital, Dimitri had had the bow placed there, as a daily reminder to himself. A reminder of Claude, and the promise he’d made to him at Derdriu.

Now he wondered if that was a mistake. For all he ever seemed to do was stare at Claude’s weapon, wondering when Claude would return.

Wondering _if_ Claude would return.

Only one year had passed since Enbarr fell. It felt like five.

Sometimes he wondered what Claude was doing that had to keep him away for so long. Other times, he wondered if maybe the former Alliance leader had simply forgotten about him.

Someone knocked firmly three times on the door, jolting Dimitri back to reality.

“Your Majesty,” came Dedue’s voice from the other side of the door. “A letter has arrived for you.”

Dimitri sighed.

Another letter. Doubtless it was from some noble in either former Alliance or Empire territory requesting more funds, ostensibly to rebuild their lands. Dimitri had read more of those than he cared to count. Then again, it was rather strange for his vassal to deliver such a letter personally, right to the royal suite, and at such a late hour.

Dimitri turned around and unlocked the doors.

Dedue stood two paces behind the threshold, already holding the letter out. Dimitri looked quizzically at him, not yet willing to take the letter.

“Is it urgent?” Dimitri asked.

“I would assume so,” Dedue replied. “The messenger flew in by wyvern only a few minutes ago, and he requested that this be delivered directly to you.”

“Did he say who it was from?”

“He said it was from Claude.”

Dimitri’s eyebrows shot up. He had to control himself, so as not to snatch the letter out of Dedue’s hand. Instead, he slowly reached for it, broke the seal and withdrew the letter from the envelope. All the while, his hands trembled with anticipation. While still standing there in the doorway, he opened the letter and began to read.

_Dear Dimitri,_

_Hope this letter finds you well. Things are doing all right on my end, if a little busy._

_This is almost certainly coming several months late, but I did hear you were crowned king of a unified Fódlan. Congratulations on that, and sorry I couldn’t be there for the coronation._

_Aside from that, how are things in Fódlan these days? Even now that the war’s over, I doubt things have slowed down over there. I bet you have your hands full dealing with all those nobles from the former Alliance. I dealt with them for five years, and trust me, those guys will bicker over absolutely anything. But I’m sure you can handle them._

_Well, I don’t have much else to say at the moment; I just wanted to check up on you. And I realize it has been a while since I last saw you, so please, forgive my silence over the last several months. Though things have been busy here, I can’t say that’s much of an excuse. I’ll be sure to write more often from now on. Just promise to write me back, all right?_

_And as for the promise I made, it still stands. I just need some more time to sort everything out where I am. I will be back again some day._

_Sincerely,_

_Claude_

“Your Majesty… is everything all right?”

Dimitri folded up the letter. He blinked, and the resulting blurry vision made him belatedly realize he was about to start crying.

“I’m fine,” he said, still blinking tears out of his eye.

They were tears of joy, but still.

“Dedue,” he said, gathering his composure. “Is Claude’s messenger still here?”

“I believe he is,” Dedue said. “I advised him to wait in the reception hall.”

Dimitri’s lips pulled upward into a smile.

“Perfect,” he said. “I’ll be just a moment.”

With that, he retreated back into his chambers, sitting down at his desk to write a reply. Not wanting to keep the messenger waiting overly long, he simply scrawled out the first few lines that came to mind. Then, upon sealing it with the royal seal, he took the letter outside and handed it to Dedue.

“Have the messenger deliver this to Claude,” Dimitri said.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Dedue took the letter, bowed, and left.

Another year went by. Although Dimitri’s work as king never seemed to let up, he now had Claude’s letters to get him through.

As promised, they wrote each other often. Once every moon, without fail, Dedue would come knocking on the doors of the royal suite with a new letter from Claude in hand. And Dimitri always made sure to respond. When he did, he handed his reply over to Dedue, who took it to Claude’s messenger for delivery. It quickly became their routine. Dimitri didn’t even care if Claude had nothing to say beyond what the weather was like where he was; he always looked forward to his letters.

Their correspondence continued well into the third year of Dimitri’s reign. It was then that things finally changed.

One day, nearing the end of the Great Tree Moon, Dedue approached the king with another letter from Claude. Nothing seemed unusual about it.

Until Dimitri opened and read it.

_Dear Dimitri,_

_All my hard work has finally paid off. I have some wonderful news for you, but this is something you’re going to want to see in person. Words in a letter just won’t have the same effect._

_You remember my first letter? About how I said I was sorry I missed your coronation? Well, I think I need to apologize again, since I couldn’t bring you to mine either. Sorry about that. But then again, it would have been quite the distance for you to travel. Don’t know if I could have pulled you away from your kingdom for that long._

_Anyway, if I get this timed right, you’ll see what I mean very soon. As in, “you should probably be heading to the castle gates right about now” soon. Seriously, go look._

_Love,_

_Claude_

Dimitri read and reread the letter. Yet with each reread he only seemed to grow more confused.

“Coronation?” he wondered aloud. “What is he talking about?”

Before he could figure it out, there was a commotion from down the hall. One of the castle guards came running, face white with shock.

“Your Majesty! Come outside, quickly!” he said breathlessly, pointing in the vague direction of the gates. “A royal entourage from Almyra is here!”

It was the king’s turn to go pale with shock.

“What? _Almyra?!”_

Dimitri and Dedue exchanged glances. Shoving the letter into his pocket, Dimitri broke into a run down the hall. He did not stop until he reached the castle gates.

Neither Claude’s letter nor the guard’s words quite prepared him for the sight that greeted him.

An entire company of wyverns flew at the head of the entourage, followed closely by horsemen. Both groups were clad in golden ceremonial armor. About a dozen of them bore brightly colored Almyran banners, proudly holding the flags high in the air. Gathered in two huge crowds on either side of the entourage, it seemed the whole city of Fhirdiad had turned out to witness the spectacle.

A pair of knights opened the gates, and Dimitri strode through. He clenched his jaw, not letting himself display any of the shock he felt at what he was seeing.

As the Fódlan king stood before them, the man at the head of the wyvern company shouted something in Almyran, and the whole company landed their wyverns in one synchronized movement. The man then hopped off his wyvern and approached Dimitri.

He was clad in ceremonial garb much like the rest of the entourage, with a few notable differences. The patterns he wore were considerably more elaborate. A fringed black cape embroidered with more gold patterns hung from his shoulders. And on his head, he wore a crown.

This was clearly the Almyran king. But it wasn’t the man’s finery or status that had Dimitri’s attention.

It was those forest green eyes. That roguishly beautiful smile.

Dimitri recognized that face anywhere.

“Claude!” he exclaimed.

It took all of his willpower not to run up and pull Claude into his arms on the spot. They were standing in front of Claude’s entourage, after all. Not to mention the hundreds of Fhirdiad citizens watching as well. It would look improper.

Claude gestured and made an overexaggerated bowing motion.

“It’s ‘Your Majesty’ now… Your Majesty,” he corrected, though with a wide grin on his face.

Dimitri continued to stare, awestruck.

“Claude…” he said again, softly. “You’re… Almyran royalty?”

“I told you I had to leave Fódlan to accomplish my dreams,” Claude said. “And I did it. I’m here. I came back, like I promised.”

His smile faded. “Look, if you’re wondering why I never told you…”

“I’m not upset,” Dimitri interrupted. “Just… surprised. That’s all. More importantly…”

He held out his hand.

“I’m happy to see you again.”

Claude stole a glance back at his entourage. When he turned back to face Dimitri again, his smile had returned. He took the other king’s hand.

“Me too, Dimitri.”


	3. Chapter 3

Of course, the official reason for Claude’s return was to discuss an alliance between Almyra and Fódlan. Most of the time that the two kings were seen together in public was due to official business between their nations. Although it was clear to both sides that there was more than a simple alliance in the works.

Late one evening, Dimitri retired to the royal suite after a particularly trying day. Claude had been away at Garreg Mach for the past three days – the Almyran king also had to pay regards to the new archbishop of the Church of Seiros, after all. Three days was no problem – Dimitri had gone three years without seeing Claude – but he nevertheless found himself exhausted. Enough to collapse on his bed while still fully dressed.

Until a knock on the doors jolted him awake.

“What is it now, Dedue?” Dimitri groaned.

“Uh, Dedue is busy, I think,” came Claude’s voice from the other side of the door.

Dimitri jumped to his feet.

“Claude?”

“Yeah, that’s me-”

Dimitri hurried over to the door, opening it wide. Sure enough, there stood Claude, still dressed in his riding gear, having only just returned from his trip.

“Back from Garreg Mach already?” Dimitri asked.

“For an official visit, we didn’t do much,” Claude said with a shrug. “It was nice to catch up with Teach, but…”

He trailed off, letting his gaze wander. Though his eyes tended to linger on the towering blond man in front of him, Claude also took the occasional glance into the room behind Dimitri. That’s when he finally noticed Failnaught, still mounted in the case on the wall by Dimitri’s bed.

“You kept it,” Claude said, his lips pulling up into a smile.

Dimitri glanced behind him to see what Claude was talking about.

“You gave it to me when you promised to return,” Dimitri said. “Of course I kept it.”

“Ah, of course…”

“Though I… suppose I should give it back to you now.”

With that, Dimitri went back into the suite, going straight for the wall where Failnaught was mounted. Claude followed him inside.

Dimitri took the case down and opened it up. Setting the case aside, he held out the bow for Claude to take back. Claude took it. The weapon began glowing with newfound vigor as Claude closed his fingers around the grip. The room fell silent for a few seconds.

“Thank you, Dimitri,” Claude said.

As he turned to go, he felt a pull on his wrist.

“Wait,” Dimitri said.

He leaned down, and Claude felt his heart skip a beat when he realized what Dimitri was doing. He lowered his hand, moving Failnaught out of the way, and leaned in close to Dimitri as well. Half a second later, their lips met.

It was a brief kiss, only lasting a few seconds, and yet it felt like time itself had stopped just for them. Those few seconds of bliss felt like eternity.

Dimitri pulled away slowly.

“Thank you, Claude,” he said.

Claude looked eye to eye with Dimitri. He had not missed the reluctance in the king’s movement, the resigned tone in his voice, or the longing in his eye. It pained him too much to leave the man like this.

So he dropped Failnaught on the floor, pulling Dimitri back in for another kiss. He let go a second later.

Dimitri stared back at Claude in silent bewilderment. His cheeks grew more flushed by the second.

“Isn’t this nice?” Claude said, reaching up and brushing aside a lock of Dimitri’s hair. “For once, no battlefields. No politics. Just the two of us, together.”

Dimitri caught Claude’s hand before he could play with his hair again.

“It’s lovely,” Dimitri said. “A pity it can’t last forever.”

Claude lowered his hand and let out a sigh.

“Come on, Dimitri,” he said. “When have we ever had a chance like this? And how long before we’ll get another one? Enjoy the moment, before it slips away from you…”

“Ah, you’re right. Sorry, Claude.”

Dimitri glanced nervously behind him at the doors of the suite, which still hung open.

“Though perhaps I should… close the door?” he said.

Claude grinned.

“Probably.”

The love the king of Fódlan and the king of Almyra had for each other was not lost on anyone. Thus it was hardly a shock when it was soon announced that the two would seal the alliance between their nations by marriage. Though their decision was met with some protest and criticism – mostly from lords in the former Alliance regions – overall the news sent joy and celebration rippling through the land.

However, as king of a land still recovering from war, Dimitri still had a range of duties to perform. Among them was the unpleasant business of quelling the occasional rebellion. Though the war was officially over, skirmishes and small uprisings were frustratingly common.

It put a damper on the celebratory mood, to be sure.

Three years after the end of the war, groups of pro-Imperial factions still managed to pop up. Though most of them were small, ill-conceived attempts at insurrection, one incident struck far too close for comfort.

One day – not more than a week before the wedding – Dedue came into the royal court bearing a report from the scouts patrolling the Tailtean River.

A rebel force had been sighted near the river, and it was likely they were going to try to ford it that night. It had been raining recently, so they were going to have an especially dark night to cover their march, due to cloud cover. And fog.

In order to stop the enemy advance, Dimitri set out that evening. But before the king could join his troops outside, Claude came up to him and stopped him. He had changed out of his usual royal attire and into a more practical black and gold armor ensemble. He had a fully loaded quiver of arrows strapped to his back, and Failnaught in hand.

“Claude, what are you doing?” Dimitri asked.

“I’m going with you,” Claude said.

“What? No!” Dimitri protested. “You’re the king of Almyra now; if something happened to you-”

Claude was already shaking his head.

“I’m choosing to take the field with you,” he said firmly. “Besides…” He folded his arms while a smile played at his lips. “I’m the king of Almyra now; you can’t tell me I can’t.”

“This is not a joking matter.”

“I know.”

A tense pause ensued.

“Dimitri… my love, please,” Claude said at last. “Let me fight with you. I didn’t have the chance to after Derdriu, and you wouldn’t have objected back then.”

Dimitri hung his head, heaving a sigh.

“All right,” he said.

They reached the Tailtean River after sunset. Though it had not rained that day, clouds lingered in the sky, blocking out the light from the stars. The only sources of light were torches carried among the troops.

Claude surveyed the field around them. Or, rather, the near total darkness around them. As if the darkness of nighttime didn’t make things difficult enough, a fog had rolled in. Now he could barely see six feet in front of him, even with the help of torchlight. A high vantage point would not help in this situation. At best, he’d see the individual torchlights as people moved on the ground, but there would be no telling friend from foe at such a distance.

Best stay on the ground for this one.

Dimitri brought their joint force to a halt.

“This will be the first battle where Almyra and Fódlan fight side by side,” Claude said.

“A historic occasion, isn’t it?”

Dimitri turned to look at Claude. All he could make out was a silhouette, with the occasional glint of his armor as it reflected the torchlight. The glowing red outline of Claude’s weapon was more visible than Claude himself was.

Dimitri frowned. “So why do you sound disappointed?” he continued.

“Well, I had hoped to have kick off the new alliance with our wedding, not a battle,” Claude said.

“I had hoped the same, but it seems our foes had other ideas,” Dimitri responded. “Still…”

Claude tilted his head.

“Yes?” he asked.

The troops began to fan out along the banks of the river, getting into position. Splashing noises from the opposite side of the river signaled that the enemy had begun moving.

“We could say our vows now,” Dimitri said, moving closer to actually see Claude’s face.

Claude made an unintelligible, flustered noise.

“Could we do that?” he asked. “This isn’t exactly the best time… and Teach isn’t even here to make it official.”

Dimitri put his hand on Claude’s.

The splashing across the river grew steadily louder.

“This is the perfect time,” Dimitri said. “We may have faced countless battles before, but there’s no telling what will happen.”

Claude’s response got cut off by the troops shouting. Several people on their side of the river ran out into the water, and the clash of metal on metal could be heard. The battle had begun.

Dimitri tightened his grip on Claude’s hand.

“Claude,” he said, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Do you take me to be your-”

Someone screamed in pain and staggered backwards in their direction, collapsing in the tall grass just to Dimitri’s left. The king cursed under his breath.

Claude pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocking it to the bow.

“Sorry, Dimitri, there’s no time!” he said, shooting the foe that had downed the Kingdom soldier.

Much as Dimitri hated to admit it, it seemed Claude was right. A handful of rebel soldiers rushed their position, and while the Fódlan king easily cut them down with his lance, Claude was forced to leap out of the way while he readied his next shot.

Dimitri backed up two paces, trying to stay close to Claude. Listening to the battle around them – he had already given up on being able to see further than he could swing Areadbhar – he tried to gauge how far away the enemies were before trying to speak to Claude again. Locating the glowing outline of Claude’s bow, he turned to face the Almyran king.

Before he could speak, however, Claude nocked another arrow and fired. The arrow flew out into the darkness and vanished, hitting nothing.

“Agh, this is no good,” Claude said. “I can’t see a damn thing…”

Nearby, a large group of soldiers clashed. One broke away from the cluster, swinging his blade seemingly at Failnaught itself. The blade caught on Claude’s armor. Though Claude himself was unharmed, he let out a cry of surprise.

Dimitri lost it.

He lunged forward, lance at the ready, and let out a deafening, bloodcurdling yell. The rebel soldier let out a strangled cry of his own as Dimitri skewered him on the lance. Forcing the man’s twitching body to the ground, Dimitri planted his boot on the man’s stomach as he yanked Areadbhar out.

Claude scrambled to get out of range, eyes wide with terror as he watched the bloodlust take over Dimitri. Much as he wanted to stay and make sure his fiancé would be all right, he also did not want to get caught in Areadbhar’s path again. He’d already been on the receiving end of Dimitri’s battle rage once before.

Better not wander too far, however, lest Dimitri think he’d lost him. Claude nocked another arrow, taking aim at a swordsman trying to sneak up on Dimitri’s blind side. This time, he hit his target, and the soldier fell before Dimitri even noticed the threat. He watched as Dimitri continued to unleash his rage on the rebel forces. While following his fiancé’s movements, Claude also tried to maintain a safe distance.

In such abysmal conditions, he could only pray that would last.

Hearing Claude cry out set off something in Dimitri’s head that the young king had long thought to be under control. He’d spent the last few months of the war and the years afterward trying to rein in his bloodlust. Yet it took just one cry of pain from Claude to shatter the façade.

The battle had only just opened and Dimitri’s blood was already at a boil. He poured every ounce of fury in his body into that attack. It didn’t matter that his enemy was dead before hitting the ground; he thoroughly destroyed him anyway. Crushing organs under his boot while he yanked Areadbhar out of the man’s chest so violently he sent blood flying everywhere. He kicked the corpse into the river for good measure.

He let out another yell, drawing the rebel army’s attention. Half a dozen of them charged him en masse. Dimitri answered them with a wide swing of his lance.

Power surged through his arms. His Crest sent energy pulsing through his veins, and the rush he felt was intoxicating. His lips curved upward in a twisted smile. He proceeded to cut the enemy down with relish.

With those threats eliminated, Dimitri then charged toward the rest.

Raising Areadbhar high, he ran headlong into the shallows of the river, inadvertently tackling another rebel soldier on the way. He swung his lance wildly about, yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs. Blood and water splashed everywhere. It blocked out what little Dimitri could see. But it didn’t seem to matter. As long as he continued to push deeper into the enemy line, he didn’t care whether he could see his targets.

Meanwhile, he lost sight of Claude.

While lost to the influence of his battle rage, Dimitri had neglected to make any effort to keep his fiancé within sight. Instead, his mind was focused on cutting through the enemy’s ranks, killing as many as possible. Only now that he was separated from the main force, knee deep in the water, did the realization occur to him. He turned around.

“Claude!” he yelled.

No response.

Panic set in, sending his already pounding heart racing faster. To make matters worse, the enemies kept coming. Dimitri turned to face them. He let out a bestial yell and struck them all down.

He paused, hunched over, trying to catch his breath. He couldn’t see. He’d lost track of time and space. All he knew for sure was that he was surrounded by enemies, and Claude was missing. He stumbled blindly about in the water, unsure of which direction to head. Meanwhile, enemies continued to attack from every side.

Amidst the chaos, Dimitri thought he heard someone call his name. Unfortunately, his brain was too addled by rage and fear to identify the voice, or the direction it came from.

Something made a loud splash off to Dimitri’s right side. He jumped, and then reflex kicked in. Letting out a yell, he whirled around, swinging Areadbhar.

Only once his lance was already in motion did he see his target. By then, however, he was too late to stop himself.

Areadbhar came down, but it was Dimitri who screamed in anguish.

“ _CLAUDE!!”_

Both his hands fell open, but again, it was far too late. Claude’s blood already soaked Areadbhar’s blade. The lance had torn a long, deep gash across the Almyran king’s chest.

Dimitri rushed forward, letting Areadbhar fall into the water while he seized Claude in his arms. He pulled his fiancé in close, shaking him, whispering his name over and over. Desperately praying for him to respond. To show _any_ sign of life.

“Claude! _Claude!_ Please… beloved, say something! _Say something to me, Claude!”_

Claude’s only response was a weak choking noise. He looked up at Dimitri. There was blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

He couldn’t speak. Not without choking on his own blood. Instead, Claude reached up with a trembling hand, brushing his fingers across Dimitri’s cheek. Dimitri caught Claude’s hand before it fell back to his side.

“Claude, no…” Dimitri whispered, his voice breaking. “Don’t do this…”

Dimitri closed his eye, feeling the weight of his guilt pushing him down. It threatened to crush him.

All his efforts to rein in his own power were in vain. He’d failed again.

Flashbacks of Gronder filled his vision. He’d wounded Claude again, but this time, it was almost certainly fatal. That wound was too deep. Even the Kingdom’s most skilled, most powerful healers…

“Your Majesty!” called a soft, feminine voice from behind him.

Mercedes waded into the river, kneeling beside them. Dimitri paid her no heed. He hung his head, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Please,” Mercedes said, attempting to reach for Claude. “Let me try to…”

Dimitri still paid no attention. Mercedes bit her lip, extending her arms so that her hands hovered just above Claude’s chest. A soothing white light illuminated the area, radiating from the healing sigil Mercedes had conjured. She directed the magic at the wound. Slowly but surely, the bleeding slowed. The torn flesh began to weave back together.

The white light vanished, the spell complete. However, Claude’s wound was far from healed. He needed more intensive treatment.

Mercedes grabbed Claude’s arm, trying to gently pull him away from Dimitri. Without thinking, the king swatted her hands away.

“Don’t touch him!”

“He’s badly wounded!” Mercedes said. “Let me take him back for further treatment!”

“You will not take him from me!”

“Dimitri, please! If we don’t do something, he’ll die!”

And yet, Dimitri still would not let her take Claude. It took Dedue, Felix and Sylvain breaking away from the battle, pulling their king to his feet and prying the wounded Claude from his grasp before Mercedes could take him. Even with three men restraining him, Dimitri nearly broke free anyway. Dedue tried talking him down.

“He will live, Your Majesty,” he said. “The healers will take care of him. But for now, you must focus on the battle.”

He supposed it was lucky for everyone that the battle was nearly over anyway. The rebel force that remained seemed to be aware they were fighting a losing battle and had begun a retreat.

Rather than pursue them, however, Dimitri waited just until the river was cleared of enemies, then ordered the army to march back to the capital.

They arrived back at the gates an hour later. Leaving command of the troops to his friends, Dimitri immediately broke off and ran for the royal infirmary.

He shoved the door open. He froze at the sight that greeted him.

Mercedes and a whole team of monks and clerics flitted about the infirmary. Though that was mostly because Claude was not the only patient in the room. Others that had been wounded in the battle were brought back here for treatment. Quickly scanning the infirmary and locating Claude’s bed, Dimitri hurried over to his side. He knelt down, grasping Claude’s hand.

It was warm. That meant he was still alive.

Perhaps there was hope after all.

Mercedes approached Claude’s bed, holding a tray of medicines in her hands. Setting the tray down on the edge of the bed, she began sorting through the bottles of medicines. Dimitri looked pleadingly up at her.

“Is he going to make it?” he asked.

She hesitated a little too long to give an answer.

“We’re doing the best we can,” she said. “I used the strongest magic I know to try and close the wound, and we’re keeping him warm with blankets. But we still need to keep a close eye on him.”

A cleric walked up to the bedside, and Mercedes handed her a handful of the medicines. The cleric walked off. Mercedes turned her attention back to Dimitri, looking him in the eye.

“I will look after Claude myself,” she promised him. “But you should get some rest. I know that battle took a lot out of you.”

Dimitri sighed, clearly reluctant. Looking around the room, however, he could see how busy it was. As much as he wanted to stay by his fiancé’s side all night, he knew he would just get in the way.

He rose to his feet and saw himself out of the room. He knew Mercedes was a skilled healer, and that Claude was in good hands. Trying to console himself with that, he headed for the royal suite.

Dragging himself back to the royal bedchambers, Dimitri pulled the door shut behind him. For the state he was in, it was pure reflex that made him reach for the key and lock the door. He then slowly wandered over to the bed, undressing as he went. He was in no mood to put in the effort to put his clothes away in the wardrobe, so they remained piled on the floor. Pulling the bedsheets over himself, Dimitri then lay down. He stared at the ceiling.

He stared at the ceiling for over two hours.

Nothing was happening. Though exhausted, his racing thoughts kept him awake. Thoughts of guilt, self-hatred, and anxiety chased each other around in his head.

It was all his fault. Claude wasn’t going to make it. He should never have let Claude go with him. At the very least, he should have kept his and Claude’s forces separate. That way there would have been no risk of Dimitri accidentally attacking his own fiancé.

Soon the low whispers of his ghosts joined in. As he lay there, his anxieties began to tangle with their voices. They echoed the thoughts already beating him down. It was a level of torture unto itself to hear them accuse him. Accuse him of failing to protect Claude. Worse – saying he was the one to kill his own beloved. What a failure he was. He’d been granted that second chance at Gronder, only to fail here.

It reached the point where he couldn’t pick out his own thoughts from the anxiety-induced cacophony in his head. He tried to silence them, but they only grew louder.

Dimitri gave up. Growling in frustration, he tossed about in the bed. He pulled his hair. He curled up into a ball and sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes. None of it was any use.

Later, he lay on his back again, right where he started.

A shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked to see a human silhouette standing near the door. He blinked a few times, hoping he was merely imagining things. But it didn’t go away.

Dimitri propped himself up on his elbows, staring intently at it. The figure came into focus.

“Claude…?”

His fiancé must have felt better to not only have gotten out of bed, but changed back into his Almyran dress and sash. It covered his wounds, at least, for which Dimitri was grateful. But as happy as he was to see Claude up and about, he was nevertheless puzzled. And a little concerned.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” Dimitri asked.

Claude walked up to the bedside. He smiled warmly at his fiancé.

“Hey now, Dimitri,” he said softly. “It’s all right…”

He leaned in as if to plant a kiss on Dimitri’s forehead. Dimitri’s eye slipped closed for a second. When he reopened his eye, Claude had stood up again, and was on his way to the door.

“Claude, wait…”

His words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Claude walked up to the door, pulling it open without making a sound. Then, as he left, he just as soundlessly closed the door behind him.

Dimitri stared at the door. Waiting for Claude to come back.

But as he waited, his eyelid grew heavier.

Perhaps that visit from Claude was all he needed. Though he couldn’t say he approved of Claude wandering around before his wounds healed, just seeing his fiancé again soothed him. It meant Claude was doing better. If he was well enough to walk around, then he was going to pull through after all.

With his anxiety finally quelled, Dimitri started to feel the need for sleep overtake him. A moment later, his eye slid shut. Gradually, he drifted off to sleep.

Just a few hours later, Dimitri awoke. He tried to hurry through his morning routine in spite of the darkness. Feeling blindly through the mess he’d left on the floor, it took a minute to find his pants and tunic. He pulled them on, hastily tying the belt.

Once dressed, Dimitri headed for the door, stopping at the shelf to find the key. After fumbling with the key for a second, Dimitri finally had it in hand. He turned the key in the lock, but paused for a second before taking it out.

Strange. He couldn’t recall if he ever gave Claude a key. Knowing Claude, though, he had probably obtained one on his own.

Dismissing the thought with a shrug, Dimitri put his key away. He then headed for the infirmary. But in the nighttime darkness of the halls, he had to be careful. He ran his hand along the wall as he walked, going as fast as he dared while still not being able to see.

At that pace, he reached the infirmary in approximately ten minutes. He eased the door open.

It was still about an hour before sunrise. Mercedes was out; probably not awake yet herself. All the lights were still doused. The only light illuminating the room, was that of the waning crescent moon outside the window. Dimitri waited, staring out the window for a minute until his eye adjusted to the darkness. The sliver of moonlight that still remained was feeble indeed.

The Fódlan king went over and stood at Claude’s bedside.

“Still asleep, I see,” Dimitri muttered. “Well, maybe if you didn’t roam the halls so late at night… before you’ve even fully recovered, too…”

He smiled, pulling up a chair so he could sit at the bedside. Reaching under the bedsheet and taking Claude’s hand in his own, Dimitri sat and waited.

And wait he would. As long as was necessary to see his love again.


End file.
